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COPYRIGHT BY 

Clara Bouvier. 
1891. 


St. Louis : 

Press of I. H. Brown Co. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


I. 

The town is divided in two by the little river of 
thesame name, Maniwoc. — ^The draw-bridge, which 
joins the two sections, is swung open for the benefit 
of ship builders, who are established on its shores; — 
just launched, or newly painted, the boats pass from 
the river on to the broad bosom of Lake Michigan to 
dare their fate, while the little river disappears lov- 
ingly into the great blue expanse. The north side 
of the town is made up of handsome residences, the 
southern side is mostly devoted to business estab- 


4 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


lishments. It is from tlie north side that the cause- 
way, made of sunken pilasters and stones, runs bold- 
ly out into the lake to meet the huge rock pile on 
which stands the light-house, — the home, pride and 
love of old Fabien the keeper. The bluffs, on which 
the town is built, are high above the lake, in summer 
they are curtained with flowers, but in the winter 
storms, the breakers beat them and sear them with 
many an ugly furrow. A flight of pine-wood stairs, 
for the benefit of summer visitors leads down to the 
sandy beach below,- and everewhere on the land, 
wherever you look, the evergreens of the pines, gi’een 
under the dazzling whiteness of the snow, green tip- 
ped with pale, tender shoots in the spring, green 
always, the rhythm of the landscape. In a grove of 
them, on the north side. Dr. Sanders had his home, 
a substantial house of yellow brick. The old fash- 
ioned garden in which fruit and flower grew amicably 
side by side, faced the east. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


5 


To Dr. Sanders, had come what he considered 
one of the greatest pleasures of his life. The big 
house, opposite his, had been rented and occupied 
since the preceding September by Mr. David Elsea, 
an elegant New Yorker, whose pale face, gray whisk- 
ers, and handsome clothing charmed the provincial 
physician. This gentleman had come to Maniwoc to 
look after his interests in a vast lumber producing 
property: he had been surprised by the coldness of 
the climate, and had fallen sick from its effect. Dr. 
Sanders had taken excellent and intelligent care of 
him, and between the two men, so perfectly congen- 
ial to each other, had sprung up a friendship. Every 
evening they could be seen arm in arm descending 
the main street which led across the bridge on to the 
post-office, for their mail, which in this far-away 
town was delivered but once a day- toward evening. 

The stranger naturally had been the first to make 
his circumstances known, to reveal his inner self to 


6 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


the good doctor in whose hands his life had lain dur- 
ing six weeks. He considered himself a lonely man: 
his wife and children had been unwilling to leave the 
pleasures of the metropolis for the little Michigan 
town, and indeed, when he had felt the rigorous cli- 
mate, seen living things housed for six months of the 
year, heard the constant crunching of the gravel on 
the beach, and noticed the solitude, -the solitude of 
small tovms,-he had decided never to ask them to in- 
habit the place, but he felt that they were drifting 
away somewhat from him, that the cold mnd of the 
great lakes blew between them. Thus he enjoyed 
doubly the comfort of Dr. Sander’s companionship, of 
the long drives which they took together to visit some 
sick person in the country; and many evenings 
would have been intolerably dull but for the doctor’s 
house across the way, with its large hospitality and 
the affectionate ministration of the daughter Theda . 
“How fortunate you are.” he would say, in some of 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 7 

their heiirt-oii-sleeve tnlks, ‘ ^to have your oldest child 
a daughter: Thecla is perfect, a rest and a joy, noAV 
Vincent is a constant worry to me,- twenty-six and 
has not yet chosen a career, or rather has chosen a 
half a dozen and tired of them in as many days, -he 
thinks himself ever so many things which he is not, 
has painted pictures which noliody wants, tried 
music and found he was no musician, written things 
which were too incoherent for comprehension, let 
alone for publication; just now, his mother writes me, 
he is actively courting a charming and awfully rich 
girl, but I dare say he will tire of her before he has 
married her.” He sighed heavil}*. “Now if he 
would take to this lumber business,- such an oppor- 
tunity ! Your girl is a joy' without alloy.” 

“So far, yes. But not without being a source of 
much loving anxiety, dear friend. What is there 
in a man’s life that can compare to a daughter! a 
very lily on his path. Have you ever been in a 


8 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


Catholic church at Easter time?” 

‘‘Not especially at Easter. Why?” 

‘ ‘They have near their altar a great taper, garland- 
ed and tied with festive ribbons, it represents the light 
of faith, I believe. It always seemed to me typical 
of my daughter — nevertheless, as I have said, the 
possession of so perfect a treasure is attended with 
all the cares which devolve on treasure holders. 
Now don’t shiver, good Protestant; if my girl had 
been raised a strict Eoman Catholic, with a good 
sensible priest for confessor, friend and advisor to 
replace the mother, which she has not had, now for 
four years! Or, yet, if she was an orthodox Pres- 
byterian, with strong influencing doctrines, I should 
be more at ease. As it is, her religion is, — that is 
she was taught in a small way the views of Sweden- 
borg — dreams.” 

“My dear doctor how came the daughter of such 
a man as you to be of that persuasion ?” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


9 


Well, it is not a very long story ; — I prefer 
telling it myself. Give me your hand: is it that of 
a true friend?” 

Of a true, faithful friend?” 

Well, I came from the extreme South, young, hot- 
blooded, and settled here, a country physician. As 
you have noticed, this town is mostly made up of 
Scandinavians and Danes, — they were my patients. 
Among them I met Christine, a Swede, blonde to 
excess, blue-eyed, white as snow: when she said, 
‘‘Me don’t know doctor, me no make nothing, ” I 
laughed and thought it perfectly charming from her 
fresh lips. She lived in a little white, frame house, 
such as you have seen all over the country, — in 
front of which gTew a row of multi-colored holly- 
hocks, She was beautiful, my Christine, and I loved 
her dearly. How quaint she looked in her old country 
gowns! She had white ones for Sundays and with 
them Avore a great bunch of the loved hollyhocks at 


10 


THE LIT.Y HE PLUCKED. 


her belt, and a wreath of the big staring flowers, 
pink, yellow and red, crowning her lovely head. 
Well, she fell into my hands like ripe fruit, and 
was somewhat astonished when I married her. We 
lived for years in the little white frame house, paint- 
ing it anew every spring, and every spring the 
hollyhocks sprang up again. There Thecla was born, 
and learnt early to toddle outside the door and pick 
the flowers, the first thing in the morning.— Then 
two boys came, and they switched the flowers, -boys 
will be boys you know. Dear coarse gaudy flowers. 
I love them still. After a while, when I had be- 
come rich, w^e left the little home for this one — then, 
I think, I somewhat tired of the childish- 
ness which age could not alter, and of the vag- 
aries, — of which she had a smattering, of the hun- 
dred volumed Swedenborgian doctrines. — But not 
withstanding her appearent softness, when I 
wanted to send Thecla away to school! she 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


11 


would not part with her and I discovered that 
when a woman says. ‘ ‘Me no want to, docky dear,” 
it goes quite as far as when she has said “I won’t 
do it for you.” 

“Just so, different patterns, but worked on the 
same material. 

‘ ‘Yes, four years ago she died. Theda had to take 
care of the house and of her brothers, and it was 
too late to send her to school, so she still attends 
that little Swedenborgian chapel you see over yon- 
der. The boys are nearly grown, and are learning 
the ways of the buisness world in Chicago. Guess 
how old Theda is?” 

“She has the physique of a woman. Still I think 
she is only a little girl!” 

“She is twenty-two, my friend, but very youth- 
ful as you see, and left entirely to herself, with no 
other guidance but that which I can give her, — 
I who need guidance myself. How I wish I had a 


12 


THE LILT* HE PLUCKED. 


good strong religious faith of some kind, a faith 
bred in the bone, which does not allow one to look 
around doubtingly!” 

‘‘I thouht scientific men, like you, had no need 
of such things.” 

‘‘Pshaw! my friend, at some period or other of 
their lives, all men wish the same, — Now can you 
think of a soitow which compares in any way to 
that of a father whose daughter goes wrong? can 
you imagine anything like it?” 

‘ ‘A wife who betrays you — ” 

‘ ‘Yes I knew you would say that — but that feel- 
ing is so complicated — ^wounded sanity, stolen pro- 
perty desecrated home, jealousy, being made a fool 
of, — and enough to fill a book — and behind it all, 
there is contempt, to help you pull through, — but 
a daughter, it is inefi'able grief. It is the lily which 
you had seen always white in the gloom, broken; it 
is the paschal light — extinguished, — God help us!” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


13 


“My poor doctor, my dear friend you have a dia- 
mond which is absolutely flawless, but, like most 
possessors of invaluable treasures, you make your- 
self miserable in anticipation of having it impaired 
in some way or other. ” 

“That is so. If I could say, I trust in God!” 

“Well say it, and do it, if it gives you comfort.” 

“You see Elsea that’s the sting which the too easy 
winning of a wife has left me: it is my punishment.” 

“Punishment! Why what did you do that was 
wrong? The wrong was repaired immediately, 
What else can mortal man do, especially with ripe 
fruit.” 

“Nevertheless I am punished.” 

“Most men would not have married your Chris- 
tine, for the very fear of that which troubles you.” 

“She was beautiful, I loved her, and she was a 
true and devoted wife — She was not the instrument 
chosen for my punishment — surely.” 


14 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


‘ ‘But you are not punished in any way, my dear 
friend, except in your imagination, — you are blest 
in every thing.” 

And so they would talk of such soul-concerning 
matters, during their walks to, and from the post- 
office, or while leaning on thebridge-guard watching 
the ship-builders at work on the shore of the peace- 
ful river, or facing about gazed upon the great sea- 
lake running its waves landward. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


15 


II. 

“Now the winter is quite over, ” the doctor said 
one afternoon to Elsea. “See, every pine tree has 
added a pale green sprig to its winter somberness; in 
a little while it will he turned into one beautiful 
harmonizing shade. The big lumber sleds are defi- 
nitely put up for the next six months. Own up to 
it, Elsea, were not our snow-covered roads glorious, 
with their borders of somber evergreens made fairy- 
like with sleet?” 

“Indeed, I shall never regret my winter here.” 

“Nor your summer either. It is short, of course 
but then there is quite a blaze of flowers and it 
will not be lonesome for you any more, for soon 
the summer boarders will be here. They quite 
change the place and make it very lively; having 


16 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED 


nothing to do they go about making discoveries, 
enjoying things which we, who live here, do not 
have time to look at, — life is always so hurried.’’ 

“No it will not be lonesome for me, doctor: Vin- 
cent will spend the summer with me.” 

“Your son?” 

“Yes, I do so wish he would take to this lum- 
ber business — a real and serious business, and yet 
not devoid of a wild sort of poetry, which might 
possibly fascinate and hold his erratic temperament 
Poor Vincent, my wife writes that she is very 
tired of him, and wants him away from her for 
awhile.” 

“Elsea, what is the matter with your son?” 

“Nothing. He is handsome, perfectly charm- 
ing, and entirely fascinating; but he is unstable, 
unsafe, not to be depended upon; he is a great 
care to me. And, Sanders do not be astonish- 
ed, but I will not introduce him in your house. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


17 


1 love Theda too much, and am under too many 
obligations to the dear child, to put her in the 
way of a flirtation with Vincent, He gets carri- 
ed away, thinks himself perfectly in earnest-and 
yet there is no depth in his feelings; at least I 
have not seen any so far. He is engaged to this 
girl in New York, but would throw her over- 
board in a moment for a new fancy-and so on. 
In fact, without having a single vice, he is every- 
thing that I would not have him be. ” 

‘‘Elsea! I wonder if our children are born 
such and such a way? If they are bound to in- 
herit something which defies training. Have they 
a destiny marked out which cannot be avoided ? 

0 pshaw ! I meet a charming woman during the sum- 
mer. -She would like to marry me — don’t laugh, 

1 am young enough yet, and I would ask her, to 
oblige her.” 

“Ripe fruit again?” 


18 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


“Yes, in age this time, — and with an eye to 
business, -but she has all the advanced ideas. I 
am afraid of having more children to be respon- 
sible for. — What I should like, is to retrograde.” 

“Oh doctor ! a doctor retrograde ! 

“Yes, I should. Not of course to the times 
when my grandfather who kept his cane handy, 
wanting something of me, first seized it, and pre- 
luded his speecli with a few smart raps on such 
part of my body as it amused him to blister. 
But, to the times, which was my mothers time, 
when her simple faith began with, “I believe in 
the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.” She 
knew the character of every child of hers, strength- 
ened them to the best of her ability where they 
were weak, smoothed such roughness as she could, 
told them of the consequences which the com- 
mitting of such and such a sin would entail. She 
seldom })anished, deeming that every l)ad action 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


19 


brings its own punishment, but tenderly pointed 
out the error, showed the way to avoid, and some- 
times to atone. ’ ’ 

“You have had perfect training doctor dear, — 
have you profited?” 

“I ? — I married Christine. ” 

“That was atonement.” 

Oh no, it wasn’t either. I married Christine be- 
cause I loved her, — ^what’s the good of my taking 
any credit for doing what I wanted to do ? And she 
she gave me Theda, and the boys who are in 
Chicago. See! the little red birds, one, two, three 
of them, and by George, here is a fourth, that’s 
more than usually live to fly from the mother-nests, 
^^’ow Theda will be wearing the pretty gowns she gets 
yearly from New York and which she dons only, 
when the red birds who nest in the cedar by the 
gate, can fly around the yard. — She is the poetry 
of my life to me, Elsea, and the wearing of these 


20 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


beautiful gowns, and the different aspect which 
they give her, is the only purely artistic pleasure 
which my money has given me. This, and the 
gift of jewels and triffes of all sorts is all I can 
do to make her forgive me for keeping her 
beauty. ” 

“Her trancendent beauty.” 

“Yes, hidden here. Sometime, when you go 
back to New York, if you will let us, we shall go 
to see you,” 

“It will give us great pleasure,” 

“And we shall show the metropolis what a 
Michigan girl is like,” 

‘ ‘And the metropolis will be dazzled, dear friend. ” 

‘ ‘Flatterer, go ! ” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


21 


III. 

The report of a gun startled Theda and caused 
her to jump out of bed and run to her window. The 
lake rolled billows of fire and gold in the light of 
the just-risen sun, and the pines, at the point of 
each of their millions of needles, held a dew-drop. 
Near the hemlock at the gate, a little man rigged 
in exaggerated sailor fashion, was in the act of pick- 
ing up from the green grass one of Theda’s red 
birds which he had just shot. The summer boarders 
had arrived. ‘‘They will not leave me one,” Thec- 
la said mournfully. ‘ ‘In a few years the species will 
be extinct.” Then raising her eyes up to the tree 
where the despoiled nest was hung, to her intense 
astonishment she beheld one of the the windows of 
the great house across the road, clearly and distinct- 


22 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED* 


ly in front of her. In all the years she had lived, 
she had never seen that window! The trees had al- 
ways hidden it, even in winter when denuded, 
the number and intricacies of the branches had been 
such that no one had ever seen it from the doctor’s 
house. — Theda saw that the branches had been cut 
away and that the window of her room was visible 
from across the way, as through a telescope of ver- 
dure. 

For a week or so, she had been semi-conscious of 
a presence of some kind, of a sense of being watched, 
and several times, tempted by this feeling, she hadlook- 
ed about her inquiringly. She knew that Mr. 
El sea’s son had been with him for two weeks. She 
had been a little astonished, a little chagrined, per- 
haps, because her good friend had not brought his 
son to see her; but that feeling had quickly passed 
away, and she had modestly concluded that the 
provincial girl could be of no interest to the fashion- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


23 


able New Yorker. 

Mr. Elsea had given a few days to his son, and 
taken him to the vast forest where timber was being 
hewn for home-builders, ship-builders, and saw- 
mills. 

Vincent had admired every thing, had luxuriated 
in the pungent aroma yielded hy the pines as they 
fell; he had sketched the lumbermen, and photo- 
graphed that which he could not sketch; he had 
measured the depth of accumulation of the pine 
needles, the fall of years and years; he had torn up 
sheets of moss, had kicked the great red, gray and 
yellow mushrooms, had been curious about the 
queer little flower called Indian pipe; but had not been 
able to see any connection between himself and the 
lumber business, at least until after his father’s death, 
when the great forest would be his by inheritance. 
So Mr. Elsea had soon tired a little of his son, and 
had left him to his camera and blue-prints, his 


24 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


aquarelle box and the block paper on which he wrote 
notes for the newspaper; and resumed his walks 
with Dr. Sanders, and his evening visits to Theda’s 
cheerful sitting-room. The son, Vincent, who 
knew, through his father’s letters, of the latter’s in- 
timacy in Dr. Sanders’ home, had counted on this 
family to diminish for him the tedium of the country; 
but when he had asked his father to take him to his 
friend’s house, Mr. Elsea had answered, “No, what’s 
the use, Vincent; you are engaged. Miss Sanders is 
particularly beautiful, and as there is not much di- 
version here, you will certainly take it into your head 
to flirt with her, and it would be bad for both. ” 
“Don’t you over-rate my fascination, Gov?” 
Vincent asked — “I am not thinking of your fas- 
cination, but of your propensities, from which com- 
mon gratitude impels me to save Miss Sanders.” — 
“All right sir, if you think it is best.” 

“It is best. Of course you will meet Theda 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


25 


that cannot be helped, for the Hysingers — the 
Menphis people you met in New York last winter, 
will be here at the end of the week, and Lydia and 
Theda are quite friends.” 

Thus spoke the wise father, and the son was com- 
forted and made his little plans-just for fun 
you know. 

That evening, having a natural curiosity, to see 
the object which was to be protected from him he 
crossed the road, perfectly secure in the darkness 
of an unlighted town, with even the star-light 
obscured by the thickness of the pines. Outside 
the fence, at the edge of the sidewalk, stood an 
enormous maple: within the fence a row of pine 
trees — sufficiently apart to allow a person to see 
between the trunks. — Under that maple Vincent 
took his stand, and from there plunged his curious 
looks into the doctor’s sitting room. — The two 
gentlemen were silently reading their newspapers, — 


26 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED 


and Theda? — who could it be but Theda, — was 
seated on the piano stool, under the pink silk shade 
of a tall lamp; her dress was pink also, -she was 
white — The lace curtains hid her at times, but soon 
the south wind blew them in the room puffing them 
out like gossamer sails of a fairy barque, and re- 
vealed her again. She had a florist’s box of flowers 
on her lap, and was putting the blossoms in a 
vase of water, and as her hands moved to and fro they 
glittered with the number of jeweled rings on her 
fingers — flashes of red, blue, green and the fire 
of diamonds, her father’s favorite and constant 
gifts. 

Her dog, a motherless cur, without manner or 
pedigree, which her father, to get rid of had sent 
by rail to St. Joseph, across the lake, had come 
back after a short absence, by water, smuggling 
himself among the fruitcrates, on board one of 
the little crafts which bring them to Maniwoc-The 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 2T 

doctor then became convinced that death alone 
could sever him from his mistress, and had suffer- 
ed him to remain. — ‘‘We are two of a kind poor 
beast,” he would say, “but I am obliged to turn 
you off the parlor sofa, and be thankful that for 
the sake of our mutual love I don’t give you a sound 
kicking.” This unmannered brute suddenly howled, 
an intense pain had crossed his dog heart. Theda 
raised her head. Vincent saw her hair shining 
like veritable gold in the light of the lamp,- then 
listening still, she turned her face towards the win- 
dow, — he saw her eyes, which were lustrous shin- 
ing orbs, the lashes and eyebrows black, an 
inheritance as well as her fine hands and feet from 
the aristocratic grandmother in the south. 

“What can be the matter with Barbo?” she 
asked, he was barking furiously and tearing around 
the front yard. His dog- sense had decided to 
make a fight of it anyhow-Thecla rose. -Vincent 


28 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


held his breath. -She was tall, a modern Diana, she 
walked, a queen, to the window, drew apart the 
curtains and peered into the darkness. 

“There must be some one on the road,” she said, 
“The road is for every body” the doctor remark- 
ed : your dog barks at every passerby you know. ’ ’ 
“Yes he is a nuisance that way.” 

“He is a nuisance in many ways-the holes he 
digs in my front yard for instance.” 

‘ ‘But he loves me so much. ” 

“So do I.” 

“Include me with the dog Thecla”-Elsea said. 
Every word came distinctly to Vincent in the sil- 
ence of the night. The dog had quit barking and 
was under the window gazing adoringly at his 
mistress and wagging his tail as though he wanted 
to shake it off. “Go to bed sir!” she ordered — 
Vincent straightened himself. ’’Was it to me 
or the dog she spoke? it doesn’t matter, include me 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


29 


with the dog, as my father said, and like a dog I 
obey. He went, but from that hour the past was 
for him nothing but a parcel of leaves cast upon a 
strong current-carried away, and lost in a great 
oblivious sea. 

It was a few days after, when his father was 
away at the logging camp, that he cut the 
boughs and fixed for himself a convenient view of 
the house and garden in which he could see Theda 
every morning filling a crystal bowl with berries, 
picked for her father’s breakfast, and gathering 
flowers for her parlor. His field glass was on 
a little table near at hand, his camera always 
ready for use, and he counted the days which would 
bring among the summer visitors the Hysingers, at 
whose home, and with whom in various places he 
would meet Theda. 

The little boy’s gun-shot had announced the first 
arrival: he had sprung to his window and seen Aur- 
ora opposite, framed in the dripping boughs 
of the pines and maples. 


30 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


IV. 

The Hysingers lived on the south side of the 
town: it was gayer for them. Few people 
on the residence side were willing to inconvenience 
themselves with boarders. Their windows over-look- 
ed the little river where the activity of the boat 
builders, with an occasional launching which all the 
country people came to witness, was a source of con- 
stant interest. Just now the pleasure boats were 
being painted and rigged up for the use of guests. 

The red bird had been dead just eight hours when 
young Elsea called on the Hysingers. He knew per- 
fectly that Theda would be there, for he knew all 
her movements; his field glasses had enabled him to 
discern the very texture of her gowns, the fit and 
quality of her shoes, the satin glow of her skin,- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


31 


through them he had seen her victorious smile, and 
the all-conquering dimple near her mouth, which 
appeared only when she laughed. He was in Mrs. 
Hysinger’s parlor chatting of their mutual friends 
with Miss Lydia, but his heart was beating furiously; 
he was cold, and now deathly pale, for in the old- 
fashioned pier glass he had seen a white cloud in the 
hall; it entered the parlor and he who from a safe 
distance had taken in every detail of her exquisite 
personality, near, her could distinguish nothing ex- 
cept the presence of a luminous object, which stood 
giving warm welcome to all the Hysingers, big and 
little, young or old. Miss Lydia, noticing that she 
did not speak to the young man, asked: “Don’t you 
know your vis-Or^is Mr. Elsea, Theda?” 

“Not yet,” she answered simply. Vincent turn- 
ed towards her, bowed and murmured, “I have not 
the honor.” The glance of her great blue eyes was 
resting quietly on his embarrassment, which she 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


thought natural under the circumstances, but, -a 
thorough man of the world, he was soon at his ease, 
chatting gaily, brilliantly. ‘‘Let’s go and see how 
the beach looks ! ’ ’ Lydia said after awhile, and call- 
ing the little boys they started out, walking leisurely 
across the bridge, past the light-house causeway, and 
on to the stairs which led from the bluffs down to 
the beach. Vincent had made a faint attempt to 
walk with Theda, but she had gone ahead with the 
lad Eddie, and soon they were on the lake shore. 
The boys ran about in high glee, and Theda seated 
herself on a log of drift-wood; immediately Vincent 
left Lydia and came to her. She would have risen 
to go away, but reflected that she was likely to meet 
him this way all summer. “I know you think it 
queer that I haven’t called on you,” he said hurried- 
ly fearing interuption, “that is of course if you 
think anything at all about it.” 

“I think you are at liberty to do as you please,” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


33 


‘ ‘But I am not, — my father would not allow me ” 

“Ah?-and yet I know he is very fond of me.” 

“That’s just why! he does not think I am good 
enough to clean your shoes, and I don’t either.” 

“What an idea!” 

“He is dreadfully in love with you, is he not, that 
festive father of mine?” 

‘ ‘Indeed he is ! I have a hundred proofs of it, 
and I am flattered and grateful.” 

“What would my mother say?” 

She would love her husband the more for being 
nice to a country girl,” 

“What about jealousy?” 

‘ ‘Oh don’t ! such a thing could not be connected 
with me. I was only talking for fun, ’’and she sent 
a pebble skipping over the water. The boys were 
running toward them. 

‘ ‘But I was not in fun when I said that my father 


did not think me fit to visit you.” 


34 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


^ ‘If he does not wish you to-I’ ye nothing to say 
against his decision.” 

The grass under the great maple opposite the 
Sander’s fence was crushed and withered, and the 
doctor several times wondered what animal slept 
there. Sausage, and sugar lumps had dulled the 
dog’s conscience, and Vincent was allowed to occupy 
this place, night after night with but faint protest 
from Barbo, — exciting his febrile imagination, and 
torturing himself with gazing upon the paradise 
which his father had again told him he could not 
enter. Nevertheless he spoke with Theda nearly 
every day, for other guests had arrived and she Avas 
among them constantly. And now she was con- 
scious of his presence, though she tried not to 
notice it. One afternoon, Vincent, always on the 
lookout, saw her leave the house, and walk leisure- 
ly towards the lake, two blocks away. On both 
sides the street the front gardens were glowing 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


35 


with flowers. Vincent saw her stop in front of 
each garden to look at them, and presently stand 
alone on the edge of the bluff, at the head of the 
stairs. The afternoon sun shone on her hack, and 
lighted up her white flannel dress, the two hang- 
ing braids of her golden hair, fastened together 
with a silver arrow, glistened in his beams, her 
girdle also of silver, with its hanging chain, hold 
ing a number of brimborions, had the appear- 
ence of fiery objects, in front the cool blue lake 
made a gentle background for the white shining fig 
ure. Vincent saw, and passing by his back gate ran 
down the bluff and in a moment was on the beach; 
there were young girls and children there but the 
Hy singers were not among them, and Theda seem- 
ed to hesitate about going down. She was just as 
he had seen her five minutes before, only where she 
had been a gilded image against the cool blue of the 
lake, she was now a dark picture against the fires 


36 


THE EILY he plucked. 


of the west, her face was shaded by a large white 
hat, her hands rested one, on each rough banister, 
and a wide beam of sun passed between her arms 
and her body — She scanned each group and not 
seeing her friends was about to turn away, when 
she saw Vincent ascending the long stairs to meet 
her. Her glance fell on his upturned face, one not 
unlike her own, with short cropped yellow hair, 
and soft pointed beard. In his eyes, raised to look 
into hers burnt the light of unbridled passion — He 
came up slowly, absorbing the poetic visison above 
him: — She removed one hand from the banister 
and drew a little to one side to allow him to pass, 
but he came nearer and nearer, evil fate from which 
none can escape, -nearer and nearer tide of passion 
bringing along sorrow and death, — He stopped 
two steps below her and heedless of the people on 
the beach knelt, and laid eager lips on her hand — 
With the fascination of that ascent toward her. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


3T 


with that intense kiss, which seemed to her to have 
lasted hours, her virgin soul was struck. — Farewell, 
filial affection! duty! girlhood! 

The man of society and good breading quickly 
asserted himself. ‘ ‘May I have the pleasure of es- 
corting you to the beach?” he asked gayly, and 
as she could not overcome her emotion so as to 
speak, he added: ‘‘Mrs, Victor is there now-what 
a lovely woman she is — so intelligent — high bred 
and handsome. — The Hy singers tell me she comes 
here every season in search of^ health — and Dr. 
Sanders.” 

“She likes my father quite well, I think,” Theda 
said, her voice still quivering, “and he enjoys her 
society. For except to him love with all my might, and 
preform such small services as a daughter may, — 
I do nothing for his entertainment. I have neither 
talent nor accomplishments.” 

“Mrs. Victor sings?” 


38 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


‘‘Yes, and does many other things charmingly.” 
Mrs. Victor came to the foot of the stairs to greet 
them. After a while she said, “We are going to 
drive to Three Kivers tomorrow, Theda, you are 
to he with us, we have your father’s permis- 
ion.” 

And when she came for her the next day, Vincent 
Elsea was in the carriage, with a place reserved for 
her beside him. — They took the lake road, the 
wheels often sank in sand and made the driving 
rather slow, but the coloring of the landscape was 
a delight to Elsea’s taste as an aquarellist — The 
great fields of wheat, already yellow, ran down to 
the water’s edge and cut against the lake, at that 
moment bluer than the sky and shiningly white- 
capped, on the west the dark velvet of the pines in 
strips and clumps, and topped by the silver cum- 
uli of the afternoon. Every now and then an 
eagle would rise, slow, heavy winged, from the grain 


THE LILY HE PT.UCKED. 


39 


fields, and fly towards the forest. — They came in 
sight of the hull of a vessel driven landward and 
wrecked on the sand here by last winter’ s storms. — 
Vincent whipped the horses saying. ‘‘I can’t bear 
the sight of that-I fancy the struggle for life, and 
I imagine all the drowned people will rise out of the 
sea and glare at me. ’ ’ The girls laughed at him, f or 
in fact he was somewhat disturbed, this man of 
uncontrollable emotions. 

Three Kivers, like most of the lake-shore towns 
is built on both sides of a little river. Here the 
shores are occupied by planing mills and furniture 
factories, and the river itself is covered with float- 
ing rafts of logs. 

Mrs Victor and Lydia, went into one of the 
factories to make some purchase, and left the car- 
riage with Vincent and Theda on the bluff, which 
here is high, almost over-hanging the lake and at 
that season of the year covered with a swaying 


40 


i:he lily he plucked. 


curtain of flowers. The wind had freshened, and 
the surf broke noisily on the sea-wall. — ‘ ‘What beauti- 
ful rings.” Vincent said, to say something, and 
then laughed at the abruptness of the remark. 

“Where?” Theda asked, 

“On your fingers. -blue, red, green, the luster of 
the pearl, the glow of the opal, and the fires of the 
diamond, all together on two little hands.” And 
he took the two little hands in his, with a pretense 
of examining the jewels. 

“Why do you wear so many?” he asked. 

“I like them, I love their glory, and so does my 
father, -he gives them to me on every possible oc- 
casion-! have a little box full of them.” 

‘ Tt is positively dangerous to go about exposing 
such valuables, -suppose a robber came along, want- 
ing them, -why he would cut off your hands.” 

But she drew her hand away saying: “Perhaps it 
would be simpler to ask papa for it first,” she 


The lily he plucked 


41 


laughed girlishly, and alighting from the vehicle 
went onto the edge of the bluff. Vincent had turn- 
ed pale at the remark, simple though it was and 
came quickly after her. “Let me take you in my 
arms Theda,” he said passionately, “and let us 
roll down over these flowers and into the lake, and 
sleep forever, together.” — She stepped away from 
the edge of the bluff, frightened, but seeing her 
friends approaching, she laughed and said, “No, 
thanks, hfe is too sweet to throw away without good 
reasons.” In her dreams, love and laughter, and joy 
and bouquets of hot house roses, and fun and boxes 
of Huyler’s candies went together. -But here was 
love which offered-death. 

“What did you buy!” she asked, as Mrs. Victor 
arrived — “A comfortable chair for old Fabien,”- 
she said. I think he will have to be removed from 
the light house apartment pretty soon: he is very 
sick, and it is quite troublesome taking care of him 


42 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


there. Anneth has to go hack and forth so much. ” 

‘‘But he has a home on land”, Theda said. “My 
father gave it to him several years ago, -only he does 
not care for it, but prefers living in the light house, 
and probably dying there.” 

“Where is his land house?” Vincent asked. 

“One you noticed the other day. Anneth never 
took the trouble to put up curtains, and as you pass 
it you can see the lake through the windows.” 

‘ ‘Oh yes! it looks so queer, the brown wood and 
the squares of shining blue.” 

They drove down an easy declivity and were now 
on the beach, bowling rapidly homeward. A.s they 
reached the bathers at the foot of the stairs, Theda 
said, ‘ ‘Papa gave me permission to bathe tomorrow: 
I am so glad, I do so love to swim.” 

‘ ‘They who live on the lake front are much more 
cautious about going into the water, than we who 
come from the interior and rush into it at ouce,’ 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


43 


Lydia explained to Vincent. On reaching the light 
house causeway they left the carriage and went to 
see old Fabien. — The keeper, though quite a sick 
man, was by no means bed-ridden: seated on a low 
stool he was furbishing the fog-horn engine. 

‘‘This gentleman is Mr. Elsea’s son, Fabien,” Mrs. 
Victor said. 

‘-‘The ladies told me you were sick, and I see you 
are hard at work.” Vincent remarked. On seeing 
a new face and having a fresh listener the old man be- 
came talkative. 

“It would never do for a soldier to surrender be- 
fore the fort is taken,” he said. He spoke with a 
strong French accent. “Here is my decoration, my 
badge of honor, here, on my breast, where it should 
be.” He opened his shirt bosom, the ladies stepped 
away, they knew that badge of honor by heart and 
did not care about seeing it again, especially in Vin- 
cent’s presence. “You see it is a scar, sir, and it is 


u 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


not on my back sir — and proves that I was facing 
the enemy, -rascally Spaniards they were, who had 
their guns loaded with nails: this is a nail-shot.” 

“Oh ! you’ve been in battle have you ? ” 

“Yes sir ! I was with the French in Spain, and 
had a hard time of it, often nothing to eat, and used 
to tighten my belt to make myself think my stomach 
was full, full to bursting ! There’ s the time a fel- 
low learns endurance, silent endurance. ’ ’ 

“That’s the finest quality a man, or a woman can 
have ! ” Vincent said. 

“So convenient for others, — it’s such a bore to 
have people complain,” Mrs. Victor said laughing- 
ing. 

“Yes madam, and I practised it when I came 
first to America,! can tell you ! and my neighbors used 
to say, “so nice of Fabien, has had no dinner and 
doesn’t say a word: now if he howled too much 
we’d have to give him part of ours” — ^yes madam. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


45 


there is nothing like silent endurance. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘That’ s so, there’s no virtue that we wish others 
to possess so much as that one. There will be a com- 
fortable rocking chair here for you, to-morrow, Fab- 
ien — I will come in and see that you use it, instead 
of these hard ones here.” 

“O thank you madam, some more of your gener- 
osity, -madam, you don’t mean what you say about 
silent endurance?” 

“Yes I do. I mean its awfully convenient to 
have others practice it.” And they left the old man 
to nurse his engine. 


46 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


V. 

And Theda met Vincent every day, every place, 
in, and on the water, in the light house, outdriving, 
out dining. — Every place except in her father’s par- 
lor, where she spent the evenings, thinking of him, 
and wondering why he had not yet asked her to 
marry him, for, in her pure and simple mind, a love- 
kiss even on the hand, is redeemed only by marriage. 
She thought of love as other girls do, as something 
delightful, good and desirable, but here was love, 
with a touch of fear — a little fear of the object loved, 
and fear of displeasing her father whom she sup 
posed to be of one mind with his friend Elsea. Pres- 
ently the woman’s instinct within her prompted her 
to avoid Vincent for a while, to “act as though she 
did not care for him,” “to see what he would do.” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


47 


— So the next afternoon she refused an invitation, 
to sail with the Hy singers, Vincent being of the 
party. Thus for several days she managed not to 
meet him, — hide from him, she could not for the 
field-glass was always handy and he occupied his 
place under the maple tree, as he had done every 
night for six weeks, gazing at the paradise which 
his father had warned him again not to enter, im- 
agining himself suffering the torments of the dam- 
ned, and yet submitting, knowing his father to be 
right, — oh! so much more right than that father him- 
self suspected. — And a frightful, fretful grief in- 
vaded his soul: if Theda would not see him, he was 
in no position to force her to do so. 

“Daughter,” Dr. Sanders said one morning while 
Theda was still carrying out her resolve, ‘ ‘Don’t 
wait for me for dinner, I am going with Elsea and 
his son to spend the day at the logging-camp. It is 
moonlight and we shall drive in after supper, Elsea 


48 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


is disappointed, Vincent does not take to the lumber 
trade. — However we are going to try once more to 
make him see the advantages as well as the beauty 
of the business.” 

‘‘Cannot Mr. Vincent Elseaever earn a living for 
himself?” Theda asked with some emotion. 

“01 suppose he could fill some sort of newspaper 
position. ” 

Theda was satisfied; Vincent would alter after 
they were married-anyhow she was not afraid of 
poverty-she had never seen it. 

“Don’t forget your top-coat papa, the weather 
looks uncertain,” she said as she bade hin good- 
bye. Now that she knew Vincent was away, that 
he was not hidden in some corner looking at her, 
all the joyous freedom of her girlhood came back to 
her. She romped with Barbo, and had him wild 
with delight. — She stripped the garden of fruit 
and flowers-weedcd the paths, and dug around the 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


49 


plants-ate pickles, salted almonds caramels for din- 
ner, played on the piano and sang^ — she did not know 

her notes, and had no voice — At four o’clock she 
had put on bathing dress, whistled for Barbo and 
went down to the lake for a swim. 

Theda in the water was a sight to behold — her 
fearlessness and enjoyment of the sport, her great 
peals of laughter, — and her beauty! her gleaming 
skin, and loosened golden hair! — ^The afternoon was 
warm, and a great many were in the water, — Jan- 
sen the boat-keeper in one of his small sail boats 
with the two Smith boys, came in close to the bath- 
ers, and invited Theda to join them but she re- 
fused then, some other girls were asked, who also ref us 
ed, so the little craft had passed the merry makers, 
and gone far beyond the second sand bar, out into 
mid-lake. 

The weather had shown an occasional clouding, 
and now suddenly from the land there came a 


50 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


squall, bending the tops of the trees on the bluffs, 
and passing out over the lake. The squall had been 
so brief that the bathers had scarcely noticed it — 
only a few screams of added fun; but half an hour 
after when the bath was finished and all had gone 
except Theda and a few loiterers, who loved to ling- 
er on the hot sands, — they saw little Teddie Smith 
in his hind clothing emerge from the water, and 
fall exhausted on the ground. Theda ran to him. 
“Oh Teddie what has happened?” she said. She 
knew all the symtoms of lake disasters, and felt 
there was one at hand. — “Fred and Jansen are 
drowned.” he said shivering and dazzed — Theda 
stooped, and taking him up in her young strong 
arms carried him to her bath house: and sent a 
boy running to her home for brandy and blankets. 
“Tell me Teddie how it happened.” 

‘ ‘O poor mamma, poor mamma, Fred is drowned. ’ ’ 
She was taking off his wet shoes and stockings, when 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. . 


51 


her boy messenger came with the brandy: a drink of 
it, quickly revived the poor child. ‘ ‘A squall came, 
and tipped over the sail-boat,” he said, ‘‘Jansen 
went down and didn’t come up again, and Fred 
swam half of the way: I kept saying, come on, and he 
said, ‘I can’t any more Teddie, I am too tired, and 
my shoes are in the way, and he went down,” — he 
sobbed, 

‘ ‘How did you get in ? ” 

“I don’t know, I swam some, and the waves carri- 
ed me the rest — I want to go to poor mamma. Oh 
how she is going to cry when she hears Fred won’t 

come home any more and who is going to tell 

Mrs. Jansen about Jansen ! ” 

“I will!” There was a sudden cry from the 
people on the beach. Theda ran out and saw the 
sail boat, up-side down, aground on the second sand- 
bar. “Wrap Teddie in the blanket and take him 
home someone;” she called out: then springing into 


52 


, THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


the water, followed by a dozen boys, and dog Barbo, 
she struck out for the second sand bar. It was a 
long swim and only three, mere children, reach- 
ed the bar with her. She had almost expected to 
find the men clinging to the boat — but they were 
not there. She and the boys took hold of it, and 
shook it, pushed it and succeeded in sending it float- 
ing towards the first sand bar. Then they dove 
fearlessly, seeking thebodies of the drowned ones, 
but the billows had not yet brought them in; and dis- 
couraged, they swam back to land. Theda had 
in some way or other cut her hand while pushing the 
boat, -entering her bath-room she wrapped a handker- 
chief around it, and putting on her long bathing- 
cloak, tired, weary and saddened at the drowning, 
she began the ascent of the stairs. Her great eyes 
were full of tears thinking of Mrs. Smith and Mrs. 
Jansen. They had forgotten Vincent, knowing him 
to be away, but he was there, -fate, from which she 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED 


53 


could not escape, -twenty feet from her, sitting weak 
and helpless from excitement, in a hollow of the 
bluff, hidden by the mass of golden-rod, now tall 
and in bloom. -he had not been able to bear the 
pain of having ten miles between himself and Theda 
and had returned early in the day on a lumber 
wagon. He had seen the girl in the water, -had seen 
her romp with her dog, a little maid again, and had 
heard her childish laughter, -had seen her courage 
and her quick sympathy for the afflicted, but had 
taken note of nothing but her beauty, and the per- 
fection of her form in her wet clinging garments. 
He was now staring at her bandaged hand, and the 
red spot on it, growing larger and larger for the 
wound was bleeding freely. He had an impulse to 
go to her, but restrained it. ‘Tf I were to go, he 
murmured, if I were to get near her bleeding flesh, 
I would become like the wild beast who devours his 
prey at sight of the first blood. ” He closed his eyes. 


54 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


‘‘I am a demoniac,” he groaned. She had passed, — 
was home, and making herself ready for her kindly 
min istration to the sorrowing women, but he remain- 
ed there, in a hole of the earth, like the wild beast 
he had compared himself to. — It was night when he 
retured to his room, and to renew his observations 
of the girl; feeding the fire in which he was to per- 
ish. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


55 


VII. 

There was just a moment’s lull in the amusements 
of the summer vistors. The father of the drowned 
boy who had been telegraphed for, had arrived, and 
was having the lake dragged — unsuccessfully. Theda 
was most of the time with Mrs. Smith, who could 
not believe that her son was dead, and indulged in 
all sorts of dreams of his having possibly swam 
ashore, of his having been picked up, — Whereas the 
father spoke of him, of his childhood, of his traits 
of character, as though he had been dead years ago, 
and still all day he stood on the beach looking into 
the water, expecting each breaker which rolled in 
to lay this burden at his feet. But it came not- 
Then he sent for the dynamite boat, and had ex- 
plosives hurled into the water, — Fifteen miles lie, 


56 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


and little Teddie plouhged their way along the sandy 
beach, watching-and still the bodies were unburied, 
floating about in the bosom of the lake, and Mrs. 
Smith could not be persuaded to go home and leave 
her son’ s remains to the mercy of the waves. 

Theda had disappeared from Vincent’s line of 
vision, for she was constantly either with Mrs. Smith 
or Mrs. Jansen — It was now a week since the acci- 
dent the summer folks had resumed their bathing 
and boating, and excursions, putting in as much 
fun as they could, to make up for the two or three 
days lost. At last, one night, a mighty storm came 
up, the waves beat the bluff and the pounding on the 
sea-wall was like a constant roll of thunder — At 
dawn it was over: then father and son started to search 
the beach; half of the day they walked going south, 
for the wind had blown from the north-east-then 
they took the train for fifteen more miles, left it, 
and began walking again, this time northward. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


57 


They had covered a mile or so when Teddie said — 
“That must be Fred’ -he pointed to a hand and part 
of an arm which projected from a sand heap, then 
kneeling down, the child took off a gold button from 
the shirt-cuff, and gave it to his father — The patient 
watchers had been rewarded, — Jansen was found 
cast on the shore a little ways further — ^They were 
placed in their coffins right there, on the sands, in 
front of the great lake which had devoured them, 
and given them up again, and from thence, were 
taken to their last resting place in tho bosom of the 
solid earth. 

And now Theda returned home, and Vincent saw 
her again in the pink light of the tall lamp shade. 
His soul was in a tumult; he had uot spoken to her 
for two weeks, and his father had told him that, 
as he did not care for lumbering, he had better go 
back to his mother and his sweetheart in New York, 
the season at Maniwoc being nearly over. 


58 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


And he knew he must go, hut Theda was there, 
within sight, within reach, if he was bold enough, 
and he forgot his own resolves, and prudence, and 
his father’ s recomendations, and came nearer and 
nearer to the house, passing into the thick pine grove 
west of it — Dog Barbo, growled at this change of 
base, but was soon mysteriously appeased, — ^Vincent 
knew that on that side of the home there was a low 
window which it was Theda’s duty to close every 
night. He waited, one hour, two hours, and she 
came, as he knew she would, and into the darkness 
of the night extended her hand to unfasten the shut- 
ter catch, then, hungry madman, he grasped the 
fair white hand and kissed it over and over again, 
sighing and sobbing — Theda remained standing 
shocked into immobility and voicelessness.- “Oh 
Theda” he said “I am mad from not seeing you! 
tell me where you are going tomorrow so I can meet 
you . ’ ’ — Then her voice returned — ‘ ‘I should prefer 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


59 


seeing you in my father’s parlor.” 

^^So should I, God knows, but that cannot be just 
yet-in a little while beloved it will be all right, I 
am working hard to make it so-but if I am deprived 
of seeing you, I shall go mad, and can do nothing. 
Tell me where you are going tomorrow:” 

‘‘Now that Mrs, Smith is gone, I shall resume my 
old way of living-I shall go see Mrs. Victor, the 
Hy singers, old Fabien-I hear he is very low and 
the season of fogs and storms is at hand. ’ ’ 

“Theda!” the doctor called- “come away from 
that room, the wind blows fi’om the west and you 
will catch cold.” 

“I am coming papa, — Mr, Elsea, I think my father 
would not like this very much.” 

‘ ‘It is not your father, beloved, it is mine who 
makes the trouble-good night”-he was gone, but 
from that moment he began seeing her again, and 
every night he was at the window, never telling 


60 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


her that which was uppermost on his mind, their 
approaching separation, -this, for several reasons of 
his own, and because he had said to himself “I’ll not 
go. I’ll hew the pines and haul the timber first.” 

For the girl the respite had been short — and the 
thraldom in which the lover held her soul was com- 
plete. 


THF LILY HE PLUCKED. 


61 


VIII, 

Summer’s back-bone was broken. In the maples 
there were bunches of red and yellow leaves. Be- 
tween the lake and the sky, flights of birds were 
seen already migrating southward, and the summer 
residents were doing like the birds. The season had 
been short that year, fogs early and persistent. The 
Hysingers were going home in a few days, mean- 
while the weather being dull and foggy, the child- 
ren were obliged to remain indoors, in their limited 
and not very amusing quarters. Theda, clad in her 
storm suit of blue serge, had brought them some 
toys, and her collection of rings, which it was a per- 
fect delight to all children to examine — She had 
found Vincent there, of course: they had taken an 
early and very merry supper together: — and he had 


62 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


walked home with her, leaving her under the big 
reddening maple opposite her father’s gate. She saw 
him enter his own house and disappear in the great 
hallway, — then turning back, she walked briskly to 
old Fabien’s land home, where he was fast sinking, 
but on arriving there she found the house empty, 
the old keeper had probably gone to the light-house: 
intent upon dying at his post, for the fog was come- 
ing in from the opposite shore, and the sky threat- 
ened a formidable storm — Theda walked to the edge 
of the bluff, looking down, upon the edge of the 
water, she saw that it was already gray and turbu- 
lent; a few miles beyond the second sand bar the fog 
lay like a wall, -Suddenly a land squall passed over 
her, -she clung to a tree-it ran out over the lake, 
struck the fog bank, tearing a great veil from it and 
she saw a lumber fleet already in confusion, some of 
the crafts perilously close to each other, and some 
out of the lake road. She knew their paths so well. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


63 


she had seen them so often, eight or ten loaded boats, 
coming southward to a certain point, then veering, 
turn their sails to the golden sunset and disappear 
in the east— now she saw them bend and shiver un- 
der the squall, as it whirled along eastward, the fog 
which had lifted for a moment, closed in on them 
again. — ‘‘Oh! the fog-horn,” Theda suddenly ex- 
claimed, and started for the light house, running as 
she had never run before in all her life. Keachingthe 
causeway, she stopped a moment frightened, for the 
waves were already sweeping over it ; then she went 
right along through the spray, for she knew some- 
thing must be frightfully wrong for that fog-horn 
to with-hold its warning at such a time of dire need. 
The door of the lower apartment was opened, and 
she went right in. On the floor near the engine 
old Fabien lay, -the exertion of lighting it had been 
too much for him and he was either in a faint or 
dead. Theda passed him and ran to the engine, the 


64 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


steam was up and in a moment she had set the fog- 
horn, and it was sending its monotonous and melan- 
choly warning to many a craft all over the lake; 
then she went up to the lantern room, and presently 
the revolving light shone helpfully in the dark — Then 
she returned to the lower floor to attend to the old 
man, but he was no more alone Vincent: was holding 
up his head and giving him a drink of brandy. — 
While she was glad of the companionship, for she 
was afraid of death, of the darkness, of the storm, 
a sudden feeling of helplessness came over her, a 
sense of farewell filled her heart, — ^was there no 
place in this world where she could hide from this 
man? but overcoming this feeling she asked, — ‘‘Is 
he dead.” 

“Not yet, help me but him on the bed.” Vincent 
answered. Together they lifted him, for he 
was not very heavy, and the movement and the brandy 
brought his spirit back a moment. — The storm burst 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


65 


forth, and he heard the first howl. ‘‘Here they are,” 
he cried, “the vile Spaniards running down the moun- 
tain side! confound the poverty stricken beasts, that 
can t afford bullets but must shoot a fellow down 
with nails. ” 

He tore open his shirt and rubbed the scar on his 
breast as though it pained him — presently the mot- 
ion of his hand became slower, then ceased, and he 
fell back into unconsciousness. 

‘ ‘O Lord ! what shall I do ? ” Theda cried. 

“Nothing for him,” Vincent replied coldly. “He 
is dead.” Once dead, poor old Fabien whom she 
had loved so much, became an object of gruesome 
terror to her; she made her way hurriedly to the 
door, intent upon going home, but it was nearly night, 
the causeway was hidden under the rolling waves, 
and the light house was standing a terrific assault. 
“Oh Lord what shall I do !” she cried again in des- 
pair, looking at the blackness without. “I can’t stay 


66 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


here, for my father will die of anxiety.” 

“Come, then let us go,” Vincent said his voice 
was hard and cold. He took her hands in his — 
“come on ! ” and tried to draw her out to where the 
causeway might be. ‘ ‘No ! ’ ’ she cried drawing back 
“it is certain death ! ” 

“I know it, come on ! ” 

“Let go my hands, you want me to die ?” 

“I know I do, come on, — together like this.” He 
wrapped her in his arms — “like this, like this, it can 
be no hardship: come beloved, a little courage, it 
will be over in a moment. ” 

“No ! no ! I won’t, why do you always offer death 
to me as a boon ? ” 

“It is a boon, only you won’t look at it in that 
light.” 

“No I won’t, oh father! father if only you were 
here ! ” Then her companion lifted her with mighty 
strength and carried her past the dead keeper, up to 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


67 


the second floor of the light house. 

“Theda,” he said, “if you won’t dare the cause- 
way — defy death with me now: tomorrow you will 
have to come with me. You surely know that neith- 
er your father nor society will admit of a girl’s spend- 
ing the night with a man without being his wife.” 

“I don’t know anything about it; I am not spend- 
ing the night with you. You followed me here, as you 
do every place I go, and I was caught in the storm,” 

“Society will not listen to these explanations.” 

“My father will. I have nothing to do with soci- 
ety. Besides you have never asked me to be your 
wife. ” 

There was a curious catch in his voice as he said- 
“I ask you now.” She did not answer and there 
was a long moment of silence. Then he opened his 
arms and took her in his embrace. “There will be 
a morning to this night, beloved!” he said; “this 
storm will pass, we will go away on the train and get 


68 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


married somewhere and we will come back; you will 
find the sunshine, the birds, the flowers just the same; 
the old parents will have to be reconciled.” 

‘‘Do you mean my father Vincent? ” 

‘ ‘Your father and mine, beloved; they will laugh, 
give us their blessing, a handsome home; for they 
are rich, bless their old hearts. Oh my love my 
love ! ” He covered her with kisses, and kept on 
talking, saying one thing and another, trying to 
laugh, but his voice was husky, and he was trem- 
bling with an excitement which the young girl was 
naturally bound to share to a certain extent. Thus 
in the semi-consciousness of a dream, in the terror of the 
storm, in the fear of solitude and the dread of the 
corpse below, she consented to go with him. 

The night had scarcely begun, and yet it seemed 
to her that it was ages ago since she had seen day- 
light and freedom; she was drowsy — suddenly she 
roused herself. ‘T hear Barbo barking!” she ex 


THE LIEY HE PLUCKED. 


69 


claimed. 

“How could you hear him from here, and in this 
terrific noise?” 

“I hear him,” she repeated; “he has tracked me 
here; O poor papa ! how anxious you must be, how 
I wish I could get to you darling, to lay your fears. ’ ’ 

Theda you have promised me ! take your word 
back, and I walk right out on the causeway ! ’ ’ 

“I am not recalling my word Vincent, — I am only 
sorry for papa, he will think I am dead, and he will 
suffer agonies.” 

“Write a note and put it in Fabien’s hand.” 

“O yes !” then with some of her old bouyancy she 
followed Vincent to the room were old Fabien lay, 
for this upper one was lighted only by such glow as 
came from the lantern through the stairway. She 
knew where to find candles below, and soon had two 
of them burning. Then Vincent gave her some sheets 
of paper from his note liook, and a pencil, she wrote: 


70 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


‘‘Dear, dear papa; how anxious you must be about 
me; I heard Barbo barking awhile ago, which shows 
you are out looking for me; I know you are, dearest, 
and I am so sorry to think of your being exposed to 
this weather. I came to the light house to see about 
starting the fog horn, and lighting the lantern, and I 
found old Fabien on the floor, he is dead. I couldn’t 
get back on account of this dreadful storm. Mr. 
Vincent Elsea came here after me. I was glad to 
see him because I was so afraid of the storm and of 
being alone with old Fabien’s dead body. I promised 
to marry Mr. Elsea in the morning, then I will come 
back to you. — Dear dear papa-I am your loving de- 
voted daughter — Theda, 

P. S.-I guess Mr. Elsea can earn a living for me, 
someway or other. 

After writing this letter she was quiet and more 
contented — She was seated in front of the keeper’s 
little table, on which she rested her head wearily, 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


71 


Vincent saw that she was sleepy, -she who had never 
missed a night’s sleep in her life, and taking the let- 
ter brought it to the couch and placed it under old 
Fabien’s hand, then suddenly and powerfully he 
whisked off the mattrass with its burden, laid it on 
the floor for a moment, during which time he secure- 
ed the under mattrass and some blankets, and replac- 
ed the body on the bed. — Theda had not seen, and 
the noise of the storm was too awful to allow her to 
hear, Vincent arranged a bed for her, as far as posi- 
sible from the corpse, and taking off his coat made a 
pillow of it. ‘‘Theda, my tired, frightened, belov- 
ed,” he said. “Come lie down here,- go to sleep, 
no harm shall befall you beloved-no harm-no harm- 
and tomorrow there will be sunshine and joy and 
love, love always. I will not sleep, bdoved- 
I will watch,” She lay down smiling confidently, 
and in a moment there was for her, neither love nor 
storm nor dead man-she was sleeping the sleep for 


72 


THE LILY HE ELUCKEI). 


youth and innocence; and he, he walked up and 
down the room, in the dim light of the candles be- 
tween the dead man and the young girl, -the storm 
shrieked, and the fog horn called out its warning and 
the lantern revolved and showed its lights to the un- 
fortunate ones at sea, and he, the man, the young 
lover with the promise of the fairest of brides for the 
morrow, he shrieked also in unison with the wind, 
peered out into the wild night, and called himself a 
demoniac. “A demoniac I ! and I came to the 
flock where it was browsing and I seized upon the 
fairest of the lambs and tore it from limb to limb, 
and fled, then the shepherd’s and the shepherd’s dogs 
set after me, and I turned and slew them, and fled- 
and I came to a torrent and jumped into it and open- 
ed my arms and cried. I’ll breast you. I’ll push you 
back to your mountain source! but the torrent was 
stronger than I! and has carried me to the sea! — 
Christ Jesus son of God help! — Christ Jesus son of 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


73 


God help! drive this demon from me, as you did 
from my brother in the old time, -drive this demon 
into this seathing sea! Christ Jesus son of God 
help!” 

No one heard, -the man was dead, the girl was 
asleep-Christ Jesus did not seem to heed, so the 
man threw himself, a despairing heap at the foot 
of the girl’s couch, he took her feet in his hand, 
her shoes, which she had not removed were wet, 
gently, softly, he slipped them off-and laid his 
lips on her feet, kissing them, breathing on them, 
and dossing his hands over them to warm them, 
thus till dawn. When through the little windows 
he saw it gray, saw that the storm had abated; and 
that they could pass over the causeway, -he awoke 
her. — ‘‘Theda beloved,” he called- “awake the 
night of horror has passed, the day of joy and love 
has dawned! arise, behold a streak of pink in the 
east, and the lake a heaving sea of roses.” She 


74 


THF LILY HE PLUCKED. 


arose went to the loophole, and saw the day breaking 
gloriously, and her youth asserted itself, she laugh- 
ed joyously, ‘We will be off on the half past five 
o’clock train,” he said. — 

‘‘You will bring me right back to my father ? ” 
“As soon as possible beloved.” 

She went up stairs to Annethe’s humble dressing 
room, and made a hasty toilette. “Good bye old 
Fabien, you don’t care for anything any more do 
you ! ” she said as they left the light house. AValk- 
ing up the drenched causeway, Vincent saw being 
beaten aginst it by the waves something brown and 
curly, it was the body of dog Barbo, and he stepped 
up quickly to Theda’s side and hid from her the 
sight which would have greived her so much. It 
was the first and only sorrow he had ever spared her. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


75 


IX. 

They caught the south bound train 

and were gone. They were barely gone, 
when Dr. Sanders, aged, and weak with 
anxiety neared the causeway to search 
the light house. He had walked the town twenty 
times that night, besides, he had suffered a severe 
shock, standing on his threshold, imploring heaven 
to have mercy and reveal the fate of his child. 
The lightning had struck and felled the great ma- 
ple on the sidewalk, he had fallen also, but only 
for a moment, and he had resumed his tramp, 
calling at every possible acquaintance ’s to ask if they 
had seen his daughter. — At old Fabien he had seen 
Anneth, who had been out on an errand when her 
father, whom she thought too ill to move, had left 


76 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


the land home for the light house. Then the storm 
had burst and she had not been able to go to him, 
but she had heard the horn and seen the light of the 
lantern, and supposed he was better — Thecla was 
there, she was certain. 

She arrived just as the doctor stepped on the cause- 
way. She was bringing breakfast to her father, but 
was anxious, for the fog-horn, was still mourn- 
fully calling, though the atmosphere was wonder- 
fully clear. She ran ahead and presently Elsea join- 
ed his friend — and they saw the dead dog being 
thumped against the causeway. 

“She is drowned” — they both said and hurried 
into the light house. The day also was hurrying, 
and sending broad light to look upon the wrecks and 
disasters of the night. As they entered they saw old 
Fabien lying in the glory of the first sun beams 
which came through the loophole window: the blind- 
ing rays pierced his wide opened eyes and caused 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


77 


them not to blink, while the searching light of Eter- 
nity fell on his soul and left not one corner unlight- 
ed. — Anneth, kneeling by the couch, closed his eyes, 
and bending to kiss the face which was so seared and 
wrinkled that death could not change it, saw the 
letter under his hand, and glancing at the superscrip- 
tion, took it and gave it to Dr. Sanders, whose dis- 
tracted eyes had already scanned every corner of the 
place for a trace of his daughter. Then she went to 
the engine, and the fog-horn was stilled, and up to 
the lantern room, and the light which was as nothing 
in the presence of the sun, was extinguished. — Sand- 
ers was so entirely overcome that it was Mr. Elsea 
who read the letter for him — As the apprehension 
of the tragic was removed there came to both men 
a deep sorrow for the girl and a keen realization of 
the unpleasant situation. 

‘‘The lily broken — the paschal light extinguished! 
Christine! Christine! is it your spirit which is in your 


78 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED 


daughter ‘i ' ’ There was a painf al silence between 
the men; then Elsea took the doctor’s hand in his. 
“Friend,” he said, “this is my fault to a certain ex- 
tent: I beg your pardon. All we can do now is to 
make the best of it. I thought my son unworthy of 
your daughter, she is so beautiful, so loving, so per- 
fect.” At this mention of the value of his loss, 
Sanders’ grief broke forth, and he wept bitterly; 
“but Vincent is not a bad fellow, he has no vices, 
he is only erratic; marriage will cure that, I hope, 
and if the worst comes, and he cannot support his 
wife, well, you are rich and I am far from poor, we 
will have to take care of them; that is all we can do, 
that is all I can do to repair my mistake. Perhaps 
if I had allowed Vincent in your house, Theda would 
have seen his shallowness, his total lack of self-con- 
trol, and would not have fancied him; but now, 
what is done is done. They will come back this after- 


noon. 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


79 


Sanders was sighing. “Forgive me if I seem to 
exult over you old fellow,” Elsea said smiling; — 
“bnt what a daughter-in-law I am going to have!” 

Anneth came down from the lantern room: she 
drew, a sheet over her father’s face, and told the 
gentlemen she was going among her own friends to make 
arrangements for the funeral which was to take place 
from the light-house which he loved so well, and had 
so faithfully served for the last twenty years. 

They left the light-house sadly, and were chagrined 
to find a lot of people, some curious some sympath- 
etic, awating on the bluff, to hear news of Thecla- 
Dr. Sanders could not face them and speak: Mrs. 
Victor, Mrs. Hysinger and Lydia came to him and 
Elsea said: “Vincent and Theda have gone away to 
get married. -They will be back this afternoon-we 
think.”— 

“Weill declare!” Mrs. Hysinger said without 
much surprise — “this sort of thing is getting to be 


80 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


too awfully much the custom-there were six occurences 
of this kind among our best people last winter— some- 
thing ought to be done to stop it.” 

‘‘It’s a shame!” Lydia exclaimed, to cheat us out 
of a wedding, and themselves out of the regulation 
wedding presents. I always knew Vincent was dead 
in love with Theda — but I didn’t think they’d do 
this sort of foolish thing.” 

“At home also,” Mrs. Victor said; “it is quite the 
thing for young people to snub their parents by ask- 
ing neither their permission nor their consent.” 

“Yes, its a shame;” Lydia said again, “both Vin- 
cent and Theda are so handsome: anyhow let’s get 
ready for them this afternoon; at what time do you 
think they will be back, doctor ? ” 

“I don’t know exactly, and I don’t wish any pre- 
paration, if you please;” he thought he was dream- 
ing, to hear the misfortune which wrung his heart 
nearly to death, spoken of so lightly. Mrs. Victor 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


81 


took his arm, “We will all go and breakfast with 
you doctor,” she said, ‘‘so you won’t be lonesome.” 
As they reached the house they saw the fallen ma- 
ple barring the road, the bunches of red leaves look- 
ing like great spots of blood amid the green. ‘ ‘Isn’t 
that too bad;” Lydia said. “Such a magnificent tree, 
and my, how often I’ve seen Vincent crouching un- 
der it watching Theda in her parlor.” 

“Oh!” the doctor said, “and I who thought 
a cow slept there;” they all laughed, in fact they 
were very merry, to them it was a wedding day. On 
entering his yard he noticed the dog’s absence; “Oh 
Barbo,” he said thinking of Vincent under the tree; 
‘ ‘you deserved your fate for not taking better care 
of your mistress. ” Elsea heard him. “Poor beast;’ ’ 
he said; “anyhow he tried to redeem his mistake, 
and probably committed suicide when he saw he 
could not.” For an hour the ladies laughed and 
talked, making light, even offering congratulations 


82 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


on that which was torturing the poor doctor. 

The day was long to the friends. They took 
spades and went on the beach to bury dog Barbo. 
The waves had thrown him out, and the little girls, 
who had been told that the faithful animal had per- 
ished trying to get at his mistress, had covered his 
swollen body with flowers-Now they stood around 
and when the sand was over him they took the pretty 
stones and piled them high, a mausoleum, over the 
drowned dog. 

“Oh! Barbo, Barbo, I wish you hadn’t done it;” 
the dostor said — “It will make her sad when she 
comes back.” He raised his head: above on the bluffs 
old Fabien was taking his last ride, in the humble 
country hearse. “Three deaths in one day-Fabien 
the dog, and my maple tree: enough to dampen the 
merriment of any wedding, let alone this 
one.” — ^He said, and sighed profoundly, and the two 
men wended their way to the depot to watch the in- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


83 


coming trains, -they came in again and again, but 
did not bring back their children — and it was the same 
way the next day, and the next, and the next-and 
the doctor’s grief was becoming despair. 


84 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


X. 

The days were passing slowly, every train which 
came in to the town, bringing a disappointment-San- 
ders began to fear for his daughter’s comfort. -‘‘Did 
your son have any money with him?” he asked of 
Elsea. 

“Only a few dollars; he did not ask for any and 
took none out of my drawer.” 

“My God! how do you suppose they have been 
living all this time?” 

‘ ‘But you forget Theda carried a small fortune 
on her fingers, and Mrs. Hysinger told us that when 
she left her home the last time, she had her box 
of rings in her pocket: with them they need not want 
for anything.” 

‘ ‘I did not give her the rings to support a good 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


85 


for nothing man with!” 

“Well, if ever I can, I will make it up for her.” 

“Nevertheless I am thankful she has them, for 
she has no clothing-no cloak, and the weather will 
soon be cold.” 

She will find ready-made clothing in aU the stores, 
if they are in a large city. Come, old friend, don’t 
worry more than is necessary; after all they are not 
babes in the woods, and they will be back in a day 
or two.” — But the days passed again and they did 
not return, and in the doctor’s heart some anger was 
growing against his daughter for forgetting him. 

The summer folks went away, except Mrs. Victor 
whose boarding house was quite near Dr. Sanders’ 
home, and who remained to look after his household 
arrcngements,-One afternoon, three full weeks after 
his abandonment, the mail brought Dr. Sanders the 
first tidings of his daughter. He nearly fainted at 
sight of that beloved hand writing-he could not read 


86 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


it there in the street, nor in the presence of Mr. Elsea, 
much as he was attached to his friend, so he held it 
close against his heart and sped homeward. Alone 
in his room he read. “Dear papa: How anxious 
you must be about me, and how lonesome without 
me!-Vincent said we were coming back to you the 
same day he took me away, but here we are on the 
train again speeding away from home. I am his 
wife, he tells everybody so, and so we register in the 
hotels, but there has never been any ceremony per- 
formed — he says he has some matters of great im- 
portance to settle in New York, before this can be 
done. I know you will be very angry at this, dear- 
est papa, and I am not very happy myself, and this 
is not at all what I thought love was like, -I thought 
it brought a joy like the angels have, but this love 
of Vincent is a big fire before which I am scorching. 
I gave the train boy one of my rings, a plain one, 
to mail this to you-Oh papa darling! — your loving 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


87 


daughter Theda Elsea. 

The Avorst had come. The lily wtis trampled, the 
paschal light extinguished. -The doctor rose and ran 
over to Elsea’ s house- “Elsea!” he cried bursting 
into his room- ‘‘your son is a dammed scoundrel, and 
I am going to kill him!” 

“It is your right, my friend but how is that going 
to mend matters?” 

“He is not married to Theda!” 

“Then he is indeed a scoundrel!” 

“A dammed scoundrel! He tells her he has some 
matters in New York to settle first-I am going after 
them Elsea, I am going to kill your son, and bring 
my daughter back, it is only her body which he has 
defiled, she is pure as snow, innocent as a baby. — 
I am going to kill your son.” 

“I have said it, it is your right Sanders, but there 
may be some obstacle which can removed — Vincent 
was engaged to a girl in New York — though it can’t 


88 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


be that, he has been engaged so often before!- Where 
are they?” 

“I don’t know.” 

‘ ‘Ah !’ ’ Let us examine Vincent’ s room, his papers, 
we may find some clew.” 

They entered the apartment, and the father’s grief 
and wrath were forgotten for a moment in the cur- 
iosity with which he examined the robber’s den. 
In front of the window, facing his house the camera 
stood on its triped, ready for use — on the table near 
it, a hundred photographs, blue prints, and unde- 
velopped plates of Thecla — On the mantel shelf two 
small water-color pictures similar to those which are 
placed in missals. Dr, Sanders knew them at once 
to be meant for his daughter, — in one the figure 
clad in white, and touched with silver paint, stood 
out against a cool blue background, the other only 
slightly altered had a background of gold. They 
were very quaint and pretty, Elsea took them and 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


89 


gave them to Dr. Sanders, saying — “No matter how 
much you hate the painter, remember with what love 
he painted them, remember how beautiful the girl 
is, and excuse him a little for having been carried 
away by his passion.” Sanders accepted them in 
silence — On a writing table lay some books; a treat- 
ise on hypnotism, with the remark in pencil under 
the word. ‘ ‘Not necessary love and passion all suf- 
ficient.” a bible, an “Imatition of Christ,” and 
Thierry’s “Le Palimpseste” in French, — some let- 
ters, and the New York papers, placed there an hour 
ago by the servant, and scattered over all pages after 
pages of common block-paper, on which were jotted 
the young man’s emotions. Elsea and the doctor 
took some up and read at random: 

“What shall I do? — what shall I do! when will the 
beast of prey devour his victim. ’ ’ 

“Christ Jesus son of God have mercy on the de- 
moniac!” 


90 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


“The wild beast saw his victim’s blood today! had 
he gone near enough to smell of it, he would have 
devoured his prey then and there!” 

2'>Tofiiiidis clamaviad te^ Domine: Domine 
exaudi vocem meam ! ” 

“There's a lily in my neighbor’s garden growing 
Love for my neighbor’ s lily in my blood is flowing 
Only a lily white, — yet when on it I’ve gazed 
Like unto one Avho has stared at the sun, I am daz- 

zed — 

Only a lily white in which a perfume faint dose hie, 
To me this perfume’s a narcotic strong 
Which lulls to sleep my sense of right or wrong, 
Oh lily white! escape from me, furl your petals 

and die!” 

‘ ‘The dominac came to where the flock was brows- 
ing, he seized the fairest ewe-lamb and tore it from 
limb to limb and fled, and the shepherd and the shep- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


91 


herd’s dog set after him and he turned and tore them 
from limb to limb — Christ Jesus son of God drive 
the demon from me!” 

Sanders stamped his feet and crushed the papers. 
‘‘What kind of a man is this!” he cried “a demoniac, 
a painter, a poet, a knave a fool! — Oh my daughter! 
my daughter! in whose hands you have fallen!” 

‘ ‘Admit that he has suffered a great deal Sanders; 
Elsea said, “poor Vincent!” Then his spirit of com- 
mon sense impelled nim to say ‘ ‘but all this is prob- 
ably scribler’s exagerations. ” Nevertheless his face 
was wet with tears, in pity for the seeming agonies 
of his first born. 

Mechanically he pulled out the table drawer-and 
there lay fifty letters, more than half of which had 
never been opened — Both men knew at once that 
they had found the secret of Vincent’s delay in wed- 
ding Theda. — Elsea, always methodical, took the 


92 


THF LILY HE PLUCKED. 


oldest looking one, one which had been read, and 
probably reread, it was dated away back in the early 
days of July — He read — ‘‘Vincent dearest husband”- 
there was a grasping breath and an awful silence be- 
tween the two men. Sanders drew a chair and sat 
close to Elsea, determined to read the story of Vin- 
cent’s life, — he took the letter which had fallen from 
El sea’s hand, and together they read: 

“Vincent dearest husband. Isn’t it funny to call 
you husband! such a handsome, awfully good-look- 
ing one, the handsomest in the world, but had to tie a 
matrimonial knot to secure him, a five minutes hus- 
band then gone, gone, gone — fled away to the 
cold nortli to learn how to work, how to make a 
living for the wife at home, only I don’t need any- 
one to earn a living for me — Dear Vincent, I can’t 
contain my satisfaction at having bound you to me. 
It was bold of me, but I am convinced it was the 
right thing to do, in fact the only thing I could do 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


93 


to make sure of you.” Then came four pages of 
society gossip, the boys the girls, papa, mamma. Bar 
Harbor all of which they skipped. The letter finish- 
ed with; You must write to me every day as it is ab- 
solutely the only thing you are required to do for 
your loving wife. ” It was signed ‘ ‘Elaine L. Elsea” 

Mr. Elsea’smind was already at work seeking 
means to untie that fatal foolish knot. — Dr. Sanders 
was glancing over the letters, — presently the tone 
of light gaiety was gone, the society news was left 
unwritten — then uneasiness showed itself, then this 
letters: 

“Vincent, a whole week without news of you, — 
six letters unanswered. Oh! why did I do that fool- 
ish thing! you did not want to. — Why did I not re- 
member that no marriage ceremony can bind a man 
against his will! — Vincent have mercy on me, I love 
you so, I am willing to endure any thing to keep 
you, do write to me, dearest, and ease this fearful 


94 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


doubt which is torturing me. ” Eight or ten, in the 
same strain, — in which she begged, implored, hu- 
miliated herself into the dust: then anger began, then 
threats, but these letters had never been read, and 
the last one received was dated only five days back, 
and Vincent had been gone over three weeks, it was 
there on the table just where the servant had placed 
it — They read: ‘Tf I don’t hear from you today, 
by letter or telegram, I will have your marriage to 
me published in every paper in the United States. 
I am not going to let any man have the better of me 
and get off scott free! — I know you are at Maniwoc, 
and well, — for your mother has just told me so. 
Now take heed, my gentleman — let me hear from 
you at once. — Elaine Lavisse Elsea.” — ^And that 
was five da} s ago — that marriage would be published 
Theda would see it, and suffer shame and humiliation 
in the face of the world. ‘‘No! no!” Elsea exclaim- 
ed, I will run and telegraph to her at once to desist-” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


95 


but Sanders had torn open the papers, and found the 
marriage notice, 

“Too late!” he cried, and the two men fell in each 
others arms and wept like women — Then Sanders 
said- “This girl writes as though your wife did not 
know of this affair. Did you not tell her?” 

“No, Sanders I did not — I thought they would be 
back in a few days, and I had planned to spend No- 
vember in New York, -you and I, and the children, 
with my wife — but this dreadful complication!” 

“I must telegraph at once to my lawyer, to take 


steps to have this marriage annulled. ” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


XI. 

They went out together. The physician was bending 
towards the earth into whose bosom he would have 
liked to hide himself. Elsea was erect, his mind 
at work, thinking of ways and means to redeem his 
son’s wrong doing. — Before reaching the telegraph 
office, they saw that the town knew of their misfor- 
fune. Some hats were raised sadly, respectfully, as 
they passed. Others looked with poorly concealed 
curiosity — and to others again, Theda had simply 
run away with a married man. 

The sorrowing men spent the night in that office; 
supper was brought to them, and towards eleven 
o’clock an answering telegram was received from the 
lawyer. ‘ T have already had several communnications 
from Mr, Vincent Elsea on the subject — the lady is 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


97 


obdurate and will not give him up.” Then Mr. 
Elsea wired; “When did you begin to look into 
this?” Answer: “First heard from Mr. Vincent 
Elsea about three weeks ago — consulted other law- 
yers — and spoke to lady — not giving particulars, ten 
days ago — she refused and at once published mar- 
riage notice.” 

Then Sanders telegraphed asking for the address 
from whence came the telegrams from Vincent. 

Answer:“From various places. The last one from 
Kansas City.” Sanders sprang up. “I am going 
after my child-what’s the next train time?” But 
Elsea said, “Wait till we know if they are still in 
Kansas City.” — Sanders sat down disappointed, and 
the ticking of the machine was heard again in the 
silence of the now far advanced night. It was day- 
light when the answer came- “They had left Kansas 
City-but the lawyer would telegraph the instant he 
heard from Vincent.” This was all that could be 


98 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED 


done for the present, and the friends went 
home to a sad breakfast, and some much needed 
sleep. The days came and went, and soon it was 
two weeks and still no news of anyone. At last 
this telegram was sent jointly to them by the lawyer. 

‘ ‘Have heard nothing more from young Mr. Elsea 
but I wired to his last address, and think it will 
reach him-totell him that the lady here has been 
persuaded by her friends to have the marriage an- 
nulled- Steps to that effect will be taken immediately.” 
And the doctor and Mr. Elsea were cheered. “We 
will send them for a two or three years’ stay in 
Europe, and all will yet be well,” they decided- 
“Mean while we will get ready to join them as soon 
as we know where they are; they need not come back 
here at all.” And the poor father, with something 
akin to joy in his heaid, went into his daughter’s 
room, a sacred sanctuary which he had never enter- 
ed except when she was sick, and the key of which 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


99 


he had carried in his pocket ever since she had left 
him. 

Two large trunks were brought to him and placed 
in the hall. He was going to pack them, anb take 
them to her just as soon as he knew where she was. 
Tenderly he surveyed her premises, gently he hand- 
led many lovely and to him mysterious things: 
he uncorked the perfume bottles, and let their frag- 
rance fill the room; he took her ivory comb and 
brush and looked for a thread of gold, a hair of her 
head; he opened her bureau drawers, and took arms- 
ful of garments, white as snow, trimmed with laces 
and rufiles, and on which were laid little bags of 
colored silk filled with sachet powders — he remem- 
bered her making them last winter-Gently he laid 
them in the big trunk, and then he opened the ward- 
robe to get her beautiful gowns, which he carried 
across his arms as though the beloved body was still 
in them. He placed them in the trunk, smothed 


100 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


them, kissed them : they had been the symbol of art in 
his plain provincial life. Lovingly he carressed the 
pink crepe in which he seemed to see her again, so 
beautiful, and he had a vision of her in a pink cot- 
ton pinafore, -bare -footed, knee high, pulling down 
the pink hollyhocks. “Oh ray Little girl! my little 
girl! the only thing I had to love me in this world!” 
There was a foot step in the hall below; he looked 
over the banister and a man with a horrible, unearthy 
voice called up, “Is Theda here?— Theda are you 
here?” Theda! Theda! — “The doctor ran down the 
stairs, and met Vincent face to face: he seized him 
by the arms, tried to run his nails into his flesh, 
and shook him, shook him, shook him and flung him 
like a rag on a sofa — His wrath abated, and his 
breath recovered, he yelled. “Thief! where is my 
daughter?” 

‘ T am looking for her. ’ ’ 


You know I am going to kill you?” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


101 


“ Do — ^let me find Theda first-Theda Theda! are 
you here?” 

“Do 3’'oumean to say that you dont know where 
my daughter is?” 

“I don’t know where she!” 

“What has happened, sir? explain immediately.” 
It was Mr. Elsea who spoke — He had been told of 
Vincent’s arrival, and had just entered the hall. 

‘ ‘Father! she left me in Denver. She saw that 

marriage notice in the papers, and she went away 
without telling me-without telling me good bye!” 

‘ ‘Have you no idea where she is? Vincent, try to 
think.” 

“Oh I was crazed, I know, but I had sense enough 
to trace her to St. Louis; there she disappeared.” 

“Oh my God, the river!” 

“No she is afraid of death .-I thought she was 
here,-no-no-she is in St. Louis, in some house of , 
refuge. — Do help me find her gentlemen, -good gen- 


102 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED, 


tlemen; I am crazed with grief, I loved her so! See 
I will give you this ring, it is worth five hundred 
dollars; she left it to me when she went away, so I 
should not go hungry. — But I wouldn’t sell it. Who 
would want to eat when they’ve lost a girl like that! 
I’ll give it to you, gentlemen, if you will help me 
find her. ’ ’ Sanders was mixing a potion in a glass. 
“Give this to him, Elsea,” he said: make 
him drink it, he is out of his mind.” He left 
the hall and went into the kitchen. Presently 
Pauline the old seiwant who grieved night 
and day for Theda, brought a warm and copious 
dinner which she placed before Vincent. Elsea 
made him eat, and when he was through, Sanders 
who was in the back room packing his valise said, 
“Now take him out of my house-and never let him 
cross my threshold, for I shall kill him;” and clos- 
ing the valise Tvhich he showed to Elsea, ‘ T am going 
to look for lu}' daughter. Let him go his way and 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


103 


never speak to me, — nor to her again. Good bye.” 
He left them and walked briskly towards the depot. 
Poor man, since his child had left him he had 
studied the rail road time-tables so much, he knew 
them by heart. 

A few days of rest, with full, regular meals and 
Vincent was all right rgain. Then his father gave 
him the lawyer’s telegi-am which told him that his 
marriage with Elaine Lavisse was annulled. And 
now Elsea could do nothing with him in his eager- 
ness to find Theda: so the big house was left to the 
servants, the lumber business in charge of an over- 
seer, and father and son went to join Dr. Sanders, 
who had left his patients to the mercy of heaven, 
to help in the search for the beloved one. 

One month, two months, they lived away from 
their homes, following every clew. Sanders met 
Vincent often, knew him to be bent on the same 
errand, but never spoke to him and ignored his 


104 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


very existence. But the young man’s exertions 
were untiring ‘ and his wandering footsteps brought 
him constantly around asylums and refuges: he felt 
certain she was in some of them, but it was in 
vain he tried to force them open, to scan their 
ranks. 

In December Dr. Sanders discouraged, almost hope- 
less, returned home. ‘ ‘She will write to me some 
day or other,” he said as he parted from Mr. Elsea. 
“She will not let me carry this anguish all through 
my life. ’ ’ Mr. Elsea turned his face eastward, and 
went to spend Christmas with his family. 

Vincent would not go with him, he could not 
bear to face his mother and the friends of Miss 
Lavisse: though the latter’s revenge had been com- 
plete as any fiend could desire. The doctors words, 
“She will write to me.,’ haunted him: so sharing 
the father’s secret hope, he went north to live in 
the great house out of which he never walked; for 


THE LiLr HE PLUCKED. 


105 


the people looked askance and disgust at him, and the 
boys pelted him. Snow and sleet and leafless boughs, 
and withered gardens changed the settings in which 
he had adored the young girl, but she was ever 
present, and he forgot her never an instant. His 
father joined him after the holidays and the routine 
of their lives was dull and monotonous, Mrs. Vic- 
tor had gone away long ago, next season she would 
try again for the doctors’ heart. The Sanders boys 
had returned home, to cheer their father, but he, - 
he took to loving his bed: he retired early and drank 
a salty potion which helped to deepen oblivion, and 
to extend the hours of sleep far into the day. 


106 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


XII. 


The old building has an enormous frontage-a 
whole city block. Two wings one north and one 
south are also the length of a block-The heavy brick 
wall which surrounds it is surmounted with broken 
bottles imbeded in cement which threatens ugly cuts 
to him or her who would pass over it. Above the 
front door the Good Shepherd stands in a niche . His 
back is curved with the weight of the stricken lamb, 
and with his crook invites others to come to him. At 
his feet a small garden is spread, a very poor affair, 
the building is so high, its shadow seems to be so 
weighted with the sorrows of the inmates that the 
soil in which the flowers are bidden to ffrow, is 
moldy, with here and there patches of shining moss. 
The plants themselves are generally nearly dead when 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


107 


placed there, having done service on the altars pro- 
claming the glory of God and the generosity of the 
faithful. The establishment is a small city in itself, 
and the woman who is mother superior there-where 
is the general whose duties compare with hers?-She 
was there in the center hall giving orders, when the 
bell which calls her to the parlor clanged heavily. 
She went immediately, and saw a girl so young, so 
beautiful, so woe-stricken, that she seemed the vision 
of some sorrowing saint glorifying that severe par- 
lor. “What is it my child?” the surprised iftother 
asked. “Sit down here with me, and tell me what 
it is, dear?” 

“I am a magdalene, mother. A poor cast-a-way 
a repentent sinner, a pros-.” 

‘ ‘Don’t use those words my child, you don’t know 
what they mean. Who has sinned against you?” 

“I sinned myself. I left the best of fathers, and 
went away with a man I — Gloved, and 1 found out 


108 


THE LILY HE LLUCKEH. 


that he had a wife, and she was grieving dreadfully 
of course. I know my father is heart broken: why 
even my dog died of grief! Vincent told me he was 
dead: what else could have killed him? Thats what 
I have done.” 

‘‘Tell me more darling: when did you find out 
about his wife?” 

‘ ‘Day before yesterday, and because he has this wife 
must be why he did not marry me, for every day he 
said, tomorrow we will have the ceremony. Oh how 
he must be grieving for me, for he must have loved 
me more than his wife, or he would not have left 
her for me.” 

‘ ‘Never mind him and his grief. God wdll attend 
to that. What do you want of me?” 

“Why mother! what do girls come here for? I 
came here to live. To atone for all the sorrows I 
am giving.” — She opened a little silk covered box. 
Here is to buy what I need, mother. See I have a 


THE LTLY HE PLUCKED. 


109 


good many of them left. I had twenty-two of them, 
one on each of my birthdays. My father gave them 
to me, it was his pleasure — Those I had when I was 
a baby are not valuable, but they are very dear to 
me, I would rather not part with them — put them 
away for my use, mother,” 

‘‘Let me write to your father to come for you 
dear . ’ ’ 

“Oh no! please don’t. I should die of shame,” 
“Well then you may stay, but whenever you 
want to leave, tell me, and you shall go,” 

Thus Theda’s blue Redfern gown was changed 
for the brown hannel habit of the penitent. Her 
placid soul which had never held anything but love 
for her father and her dog, and the reflection of 
Vincents’ s passion, — surrounded by the fervor of 
the ascetics soon followed them in their heavenward 
flight. -The remembrance of her sin and sorrow 
paled in the contemplation of the forgiven’ s par- 


110 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


adise, and in that state of exaltation in which 
the martyr welcomes sufferings-which often he 
does not feel, for when the soul is beyond, pain 
is not. 

The winter passed, the lenten penances were 
about over, and preparations for Easter begun, 
Theda had asked permission to arrange the lilies 
on the altar, which had been« granted at once, for 
she was adored in the convent. The Superior 
had never allowed her to mix with the Magdelenes, 
nor even to see the dreadful, evil girls who are 
there under restraint, and whose care demands 
from their guardians the patience of the saints 
and the vigilance of the devil. 

Several times during the work of decoration in 
the chapel, sister Mary Joseph had seen Theda 
stop and touch her ankle. 

“My darling” she asked “is there anything hurt- 
ing your foot?” 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


Hi 


‘‘Nothing much,” she replied- “a burning spot 
above my ankle, but don’t mind sister, I must suf- 
fer things you know, I who have given such pain to 
others. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘Let me see what it is. ’ ’ 

“It is no use sister for I won’t allow anything 
put on it to relieve it-I am going to indure it.” 

“Mother Superior! will you use your authority 
here please, the child has a hurt on her ankle which 
she will not show.” 

“The Lord does not require this of you my dar- 
ling,” the superior said- “if He has given us heal- 
ing stuffs it is so we can use them to relieve our 
ailments . ‘ ‘Show me what hurts you — immediately, ’ ’ 
Theda drew down ker stocking and revealed just 
above her ankle a spot the size of a twenty-five 
cent piece, slightly protuberent,-in color, texture 
and granulations something like cauliflower, injected 
with minute traceries of blood. 


112 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


Mother turned pale, ‘‘Look Sister Mary Joseph 
do you know what this is?” 

“I do,” the sister said sadly. 

“It is very serious, daughter, and must he remov- 
ed at once. ’’-She pulled a bell rope, and a sister 
appeared. 

‘ ‘If the doctors are still in the ward, send them 
to the infirmary: tell them there is a sarcoma to be 
removed. Come my child I will stay by you 
during the operation.” 

“O mother never mind removing this, I want 
to suffer, I like it,” 

“Where is your obedience, daughter?” 

So she submitted and went into the infirmary. 
Several nuns came in and made her ready for the oper- 
ating table — Then the doctors entered, some old, 
some young, curious, or indifferent. Kemoving 
a sarcoma from the limb of a magdelene did not 
enlist their sympathy. But, there, surrounded by 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


113 


loving carresing nuns, stood their patient, fearless 
refusing the anasthetic until the superior’s authority 
compelled her to submit. Every one of those men 
bowed before that matchless beauty of face 'and 
form, recognizing at once that it was but the fit 
cassing of a soul which surely must be beautiful 
and pure, no matter what had happened, to make 
it that of a repenting magdelene. She saw their sym- 
pathy and smiled, her victorious, dimple creating 
smile, and they were her slaves for the remainder of 
her life-six weeks. 

Notwithstanding the most absolutely loving care, 
the sarcoma appeared again, this time above the 
knee, with increased ferocity and a spread so rapid, 
one could almost see it grow, and then again climb- 
ing upwards, above the hip. Then mother super- 
ior told her she was not to live much longer. 

By some contradiction in human nature, she who 
had voluantarily given up the world, finding that 


114 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


she was called upon to give up life as well, began 
to regret it. She wept bitterly. She looked back 
upon her short life, every year of which had been 
marked off by her father’s love, with precious stones, 
flowers and rejoicing. She saw again the great sea- 
lake, with its fleet of lumber boats, veering east- 
ward, catching in their out-spread sails the rose and 
gold of sunset, and disappearing in the mist. Like 
them her soul was veering heavenward with wings 
out-spread, like them it would disappear in the un- 
known mist of eternity, to cast its freight of grief 
and joy at the feet of God. She saw again the land 
of her birth with its short flaming summer, its 
long cold, and its every where decorations of ever- 
green-Soon she would be there again, asleep for- 
ever by the side of her mother, under the hemlock 
where the red bird nest’s in summer, and which in 
winter will bend low over her, with its weight of 
»now and sleet. — Her soul, poetizing itself in the 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


115 


approach of death, was filled with tender pity for 
her father; she moaned his name constantly. As 
for Vincent — ^he was the destroyer, that was all. 
She had loved him with a love, which had been 
more the reflection of his own burning passion 
than a separate growth, she had been awe-struck at 
being the object of slavish adoration, and had suc- 
cumbed from astonishment. 

‘‘Let me send for your poor father.” mother sup- 
erior asked every day,-and every day she answered 
“not yet”. In her young heart, perhaps hope, the 
hundred -lived, was not entirely destroyed, she 
thought she might get well, or at least that she had 
many days yet to live. “Well then write to him 
darling, write to him every day, if you feel strong 
enough. ’ ’ Mother superior was putting her to bed 
as she said this, for until then she had gone about 
not feeling much pain, for the doctors skill deadned 
that with soothing stuffs. 


116 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


XIII. 

Here are Theda’s letters which her fathar receiv- 
ed, all together, with a message calling him to the 
convent at once. He read them in the depot and 
on the train, with bnrsting heart and through blind- 
ing tears. 

“My dear and darling papa: I am going to die, 
so I want to tell you every thing. I saw in the 
papers that Mr. Elsea had a wife in New York, and 
I knew at once that we could not be married, so I 
left him. I am so sorry I gave his wife so much 
pain, but I did not know. I beg her pardon and 
hope she is happy again wiih her husband. Every- 
day I pray that it may be so. Now let me tell you 
how I happened to be in this convent. You know 
little Theda Bjorsen, who was named after me, all 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


117 


the pretty little dresses she wears are made here, by 
the sisters. Mrs. Bjorsen had given me their address. 
I remembered it, because I wanted them to do some 
work for me, and when I left Mr. Elsea I remember- 
ed it again and came here to live with them. I 
can’t tell you how good every one here is to me 
dear papa. Mother Superior always calls me ^‘dar- 
ling,” and the Irish nuns, “me darlint.” There 
are six doctors who come here, and there are six 
bouquets of flowers in my little room; every day 
they bring them to me with hooks and pictures, to 
me a poor repentent magdelene . I wanted to put them 
on the blessed virgin’s altar, but mother would not let 
me; she said the virgin would rather see them in my 
room, comforting me: and you know all my beauti- 
ful rings, -you were so good to give them to me!- 
they have given me all sorts of comfort. Mother 
buys every thing for me that she thinks will please 
me. I am not on anybody’s charity, and it is still 


118 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


your money, beloved father which provides for me 
during my last days on earth — I am tired — I love 
you — Theda. ’ ’ 

‘‘Beloved papa: Would you believe it, another 
of these horrible spots has appeared on me, on my 
side, it is like the clawing of an angry beast, but the 
doctor, a young man with black eyes, soon eases 
me of pain. He wrung his hands when he saw 
this spot to-day, and said: “this is a cyclone whch 
is tearing through the child’s body.” But 1 must 
suffer for all the pain I have given you. Oh papa 
how angry you must have been with me. How you 
must have despised me, so I think it is but just that 
I should suffer and die; and yet some how or other I 
never think myself very guilty. I try to, and I try 
to repent and atone, but I don’t quite know how I 
came to go with Mr. Elsea; I thought we were going 
to get married as other people do, and go right back 


THE IJLY HE n.UCKED. 


119 


to you, but of course I know now it was a great sin 
on account of his wife. I beg her pardon, and 
yours again and again. Theda.’' 

‘‘Dear papa: I wanted to tell all my sins to a 

priest, yesterday'; everybody does here, even the 
saintly sisters; but the father said, never mind, it 
might tire me; mother superior had told him what had 
brought me in the convent. PTe was going to bap- 
tize me, and I would go to heaven with all my sins 
washed away, and would receive the martyr’s crown. 
I remember you used to say you wanted me to be 
something orthodox, presbyterian or catholic, and 
to live according to their creed; well I haven't lived 
by cither creed, but I die in the faith. All the 
sisters are coming in to my room to see me baptized, 
and in memory of you who loved so dearly to see 
me finely attired I shall wear a gown of white silk, 
and flowers and jeweD. And I shall wear this gown 


120 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


twice — this time for God, and the next for you, in a 
few weeks. You shall see me in it, dearest, but I 
shall never take it off again, and I will not see you 
except with the spirit’s vision. Your own Theda.” 

‘‘O papa! come, come quick! I had said you 
should not come until after I was dead, but I have 
changed my mind, I want you, I want to kiss you, 
I want to die in your arms — I am afraid ! there is 
a burning pain in my head, I may not know you 
when you get here — O come quick, darling papa ! ” 

A night and a day of excrutiating tortures before 
the poor father reached the convent door. “Am I 
in time, will she know me ? ” he asked of the mother, 
as he followed her to his daughter’s room. Not 
much more than just in time,” she said; “ I am so 
glad you came to the darling, she is waiting for you, 
calling you.” He stopped suffocating, at her room 
door, he saw that one of her eyes was bandaged, 
saw her brown penitent’s dress, and saw her ex- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


121 


tend her arms towards him: he sprang in, lifted 
her to his breast and held her with a grip which 
he thought Death itself would not dare loosen: she 
joined her hands back of his head, and laid her 
lips on his — what would part them now ! 

The Mother came and gently untwined the rigid 
fingers; then the father laid his dead child back on 
her couch: for a moment he saw the triumphant 
smile and its accompanying dimple, then death be- 
gan to erase that which in life had been so beauti- 
ful. The nuns withdrew and left him alone with 
his grief and his dead. 

He had been some two hours in the convent, settling 
matters with the nuns, when sister Mary Joseph 
told him a gentleman wanted to speak to him. He 
arose and met Elsea in the hall. 

“Forgive me old friend,” Elsea said, — if I seem 
to intrude, but I could do nothing- Vincent heard that 
you knew where Theda was, and we followed you. 


122 


THF LILY HE PLUCKED. 


Have mercy on him! lie is such a poor wreck! Let 
him see her, he wants to tell her that he is a free 
man, that they can be married if she will, that his 
whole life will be one of absolute devotion to her, 
to make up for the evil he has done.” 

“Well then” Sanders said, “let him see her,” — 
his voice was hard and cruel. 

Two young physicians had entered the room to 
make out the death certificate, and sister Mary was 
laying out the last outfit, the white silk gown, the 
flowers, the baby rings — the jeweled ones were all 
gone. Then Mr. Elsea entered the room with 
his son, a poor trembling fellow whose 
six months confinment in the house had weak- 
ened fearfull3^ His haggard eyes turned to the 
couch, he saw the stiffened form in its brown garb, 
the crossed hands — the face was veiled. His e^'es 
opened horribly, he leaned against the wall of the 
cell like room-Sandcrs was looking at him, “Pull 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


123 


off that cover,” he ordered of the sister. 

‘‘Oh sir, have mercy on the poor young man,” 
she replied — “he may be guilty sure but faint his 
fault if she had the sarcoma, the blessed angel.” 

“Take that cover off.” She did not stir. “Have 
mercy” she said again — “I won’t, he cried.” “He 
had no mercy on her pure white soul, on her inno- 
cence, on her ignorance of life — ^he cared for nothing 
but the beauty of her body!” He seized Vincent by 
the sleeve and jerked him towards the couch, at the 
same time snatching the covering from the 

dead girl’s face-Here was Theda — hideous !-The sar- 
coma which had eaten her body had also grown 
from her brain, pushing the great blue eye, now 
glazed in death, far out of its orbit. Her jaw had 
fallen and the lips were drawn away from her teeth. 
The eye protruded so far it seemed to be looking 
with terror in the opened mouth — The young man 
gasped — tried not to look, but saw, retreating back 


124 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


against the wall, he held on with his hands, but his 
nails tore the white-wash and he fell. 

‘‘Here! help! help!” Sanders cried — “Save this 
man!” Elsea looked at his son’s unconscious form 
on the floor. A great pity and tenderness filled his 
heart — “Friend”-he said to Sanders. “Have mercy, 
let him die. ’ ’ 

“Did I die? — Why should the guilty one be luck- 
ier than I-the victim? Here gentlemen doctors, I 

say revive this man! there is the biggest fee you 

ever had in your life if you do. Hers was the sar- 
coma of the body-he has it in his soul, let him suf- 
fer more!” 

Elsea lifted his son, and with the doctors carried 
him away. 

Meanwhile sister Mary had finished the last toilette, 
according to the oft-repeated wish of the dead girl- 
She asked Dr, Sanders to retire to the chapel as the 
Ijody would be brought there for benediction as soon 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


125 


as dressed. 

There, he crouched at the foot of the great crucifix 
‘‘Christ, son of God!” he cried-“You never suffered 
as I do now-What was your flagellation, your crown 
of thorns, your crucifixion? they were only bodily pain 
which if you were son of God you did not feel,- 
to niy grief for the sin, the pain, the death of that 
which I loved better than life!” A priest was kneel- 
ing before the altar, waiting to give the benediction. 
Hearing the cry he rose and came to the man. 

‘ ‘My son’ ’ he said ‘ ‘Christ, son of God suffered 
the flagellation, the crown of thorn, the crucifixion: 
many a saint, many a man even has suffered as much 
and more, but on His soul was also laid the weight 
of this grief of yours, as well as that of all the pain, 
all the sorrows which mankind will suffer until the 
end of the world. May God be merciful and lessen 
yours. ” 

The nuns were filing into the chapel, eight of 


126 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


them hearing the body in its casket. The mother 
superior stepped up to Sanders, -^‘Father of our be- 
loved, of our sainted martyr, come, bid farewell to 
your child-He arose painfully, expecting to see 
again the dreadful sight — But a poetic, loving and 
artistic nun, had turned the face sideways on its pil- 
low of satin, in its bed of flowers, a thin vail cover- 
ed the eye which could not be closed. As in the sleep 
of childhood, the check and chin rested on her hand 
which closed the mouth — the beautiful smile, almost 
seemed there. The other hand lay on her bosom, 
holding the end of the veil and a great bunch of 
lilies, on her fingers glimmered the baby rings. The 
horror of her death was gone, Sanders knelt by 
his child during the whole ceremony comforted even 
unto saying, ‘‘perhaps it is best for her.” 

At the convent door that night, two friends who 
had loved each other dearly, shook hands and part- 
ed to meet no more-One went north with his daugh- 


THE LILY HE PLUCKED. 


127 


ter’ s body to lay it at her mother’s side, to sleep 
forever under the hemlock in which the red birds 
make their nests in summer, and which will bend 
low over them with the weight of the winter’s snow. 
The other, east, with his son’s-to lay it in Greenwood, 
in the proud shadow of his family monument, to 
sleep until the last trump calls him to give an ac- 
count of what he did with the lily he plucked, the 
paschal light he extinguished! 


TEAR OUT THIS PACE 

and return it to the publishers of the Inland 
Journal of Education, St. Louis, Missouri, with 
the request to send to your address postpaid for 
one year the monthly edition of that paper. The 
hpAJoeekly edition of this excellent educational mag- 
azine may be secured by sending two copies of 
this page. Please remember that you are receiv- 
ing free of charge^ ten or twenty copies of an ed- 
ucational paper that is selling for ten cents per 
copy at all news stands. 

Do not fail to take advantage of this liberal 
offer immediately upon purchasing copies of this 
book. Address, 

The Inland Journal of Education, 

Charles W. Brown, Publisher, 

$t, Louis or Chicago. 




CU LTU RE, 


A MODERN METHOD. 


BY 


ELLIOTT E FURNEY. 


September 22, 1890 

OL. 

book. 

Thb 


London, England: 

Kegan Paul, Trench, Thdbner & Co. 

MDCCCXCT. 






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